


there's a wound and I'm moving slow

by originalPseudonym



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/F, POV Second Person, i hope people are still into post-finale fics, song lyrics that only vaguely relate to the fic b/c im unoriginal, this is several months late
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-11
Updated: 2015-07-11
Packaged: 2018-04-08 20:34:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4319481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/originalPseudonym/pseuds/originalPseudonym
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(<em>Klark kom Skaikru</em>, they say)</p><p>It is not normal for you to doubt the loyalty of your own people, but you head an alliance of twelve clans that grows shakier as the days go by.</p>
            </blockquote>





	there's a wound and I'm moving slow

It hasn't been long, but you fear that trouble is brewing.

You hear her name in your own streets, among your own people. The name doesn't quite drift to your ears as it ought to; it comes fast, quick, and sharp, because even though the name is spoken in a nearly casual manner, Trigedasleng has never pleased any ears.

( _Klark kom Skaikru_ , they say)

Occasionally you hear it said in English too, because this _is_ Polis, and the most educated of your people live here. You aren't sure whether it's worse hearing her name in the harshness that is your mother tongue or in the relative grace that is the English language. Part of you wishes that you didn’t have to hear her name at all.

Nevertheless, hearing the name – Clarke's name – makes you nervous for several reasons. But when it comes down to it, it's mostly because your people respect her, and because they know that you left her at the mountain. The rumors (as exaggerated as they are) have spread, and a grand picture has been painted: _Klark kom Skaikru_ took down the _Maunon_ alone. _Klark kom Skaikru_ succeeded, even when the Commander went back on her word.

It is not normal for you to doubt the loyalty of your own people, but you head an alliance of twelve clans that grows shakier as the days go by. Many villages have grown either less or more wary of the Sky People, and without a common enemy you know that it is only a matter a time before tension between clans thickens into something deadly.

No, it hasn't been long since the mountain fell, since you left Clarke and took her hope with you – but it does not take long for trouble to rear its ugly head. Unrest between clans does not mean safety for you, and certainly doesn't mean safety for your people.

Eventually you come to the conclusion that you've been holed up in Polis for too long. It's easier for your people to doubt a face that they cannot see. You need to tour the clans once again, meet with their leaders, (re)establish peace. You make the decision to go as soon as the idea first occurs to you, because you need to do _something_.

You give out orders to those who oversee in your absence. You're not wasting time, you tell them. You're to leave in the morning.

It makes sense that she would show up that same night – _she_ being Clarke, of course. No one else can manage to throw you off quite as well as she can.

Your guards do not stop her. Whether or not they tried to is something that you are unaware of, but she stands before you in the entrance of your room regardless, alarmingly calm.

"Clarke," you say, voice catching on nothing but your own tongue.

She eyes the worn bag that you were in the process of preparing. "Were you going somewhere?"

You grab a handful of the bag, knuckles whitening. Your armor isn’t even fastened correctly.

"Clarke," you repeat.

She doesn't respond, though you suppose you haven't given her much to respond to. You aren’t sure if she's giving you a chance to remember yourself, but that's what you take the time to do. You straighten up, releasing your grip on the bag and setting it down carefully. And though it's more fragile than it's ever been, your mask slides into place.

Raising an eyebrow, Clarke waits.

"Clarke," you say once more, nearly wincing when you realize that you've said her name three times in the past thirty seconds.

 _It's good to see you_ , you want to say. _I'm glad that you're alright. I'm glad that you're alive._

You clear your throat before asking, "What are you doing here?"

(You don't dare to sound hopeful)

Clarke doesn’t seem fazed by your apparent curtness. Responding in kind, she says, "I need to know that you won't attack my people."

You almost flinch at her words, but there is no accusation in her tone. Only honesty.

(You think that she may understand)

"I will not," you promise, "As long as your people do not attack mine."

Clarke gives a slight nod. She leans back as if to make to leave, but her eyes drift to your bag once again.

“I am going to visit the leaders of each of the twelve clans,” you say, though you aren’t sure why; Clarke doesn’t look particularly interested.

But there is something undeniably forced about her indifference. “I believe it necessary to keep the alliance intact,” you add.  

Her eyes narrow at the mention of _alliance_. You step forward, despite the fact that the distance between the two of you isn’t very wide at all.

"I work to achieve what's best for my people, Clarke," you say, and your voice almost sounds firm. "That's all I want."

"Is it, Lexa?" she asks, and you swallow at the sudden fire in her eyes.

"Yes," you lie. She stares at you, and it does not take long for you to give in. Your mask cracks. "No."

She doesn’t say anything, and you fear that she may really leave, this time – but then she surges forward without warning, gripping the back of your head and bringing your lips to hers.

It takes you a moment to respond, and when you do, it’s not without uncertainty. Clarke’s lips leave an ache in your chest, but it quickly gives way to fire as soon as her tongue slips past your own lips. You grab her arms a little helplessly.

(You try not to lose yourself)

When she pulls back, her eyes are closed. She breathes like it pains her.

"Come with me," you whisper, once she’s opened her eyes. You are desperate and reckless and you cannot afford to be either of those things, but Clarke has the tendency to make you feel things you shouldn't.

Clarke steps back and gives you a sad, tight-lipped smile. She says one thing before she turns her back and leaves your room:

"May we meet again."

**Author's Note:**

> This isn't that great but it's been sitting in a folder for three months, so! I thought I'd post something.


End file.
